When You Got a Good Friend
by Twinings
Summary: Wonder could I bear apologize, or would she sympathize with me? [CAT]
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Don't own. Sleepy. (www. freewebs. com/ catverse)

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Javalanche was a safe place, relatively. It was neutral ground. Across the street from the Iceberg, and therefore within rogue territory, but not technically affiliated in any way. And, more importantly, it was a coffee shop, and Techie and the Captain would never do violence to each other over coffee.

Well, not serious violence, anyway.

The two of them sat across from each other, sipping cappuccinos and watching each other cautiously, but with a minimum of hostility in the air.

Finally, the Captain spoke up.

"You've lost weight. Are you eating?"

Techie laughed, and the tension melted away.

"Honestly? No. The first night I was there, one of the henchmen took a banana creme pie out of the fridge...it wasn't pretty. When you live with the Joker, you can't trust the food. Or anything else, really."

"Better have a sandwich, then."

"Not hungry," said Techie.

"_Ops_." She caught a nearby waitress's attention. "My friend wants a sandwich."

"I do not!"

"Order, Ops, or I'll do it for you."

"Oh...fine. Give me a Maui chicken melt." Her annoyed glare was ignored as the Captain ordered the same, and the waitress went on her way.

"There, now, was that so hard?" Techie rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you want, anyway?" She softened when the Captain flashed unconscious puppydog eyes. "I mean, what's with the sudden message? Why now?" The Captain shrugged uncomfortably.

"No...no real reason. I just didn't really think I should waltz back into the lair and assume everything would go back to normal."

"The lair," Techie repeated. "Did you know it was empty? It looks like it's been that way for a long time."

"Really?" The Captain sat up straighter. "He left?" Techie nodded. "Willingly?"

"I don't know. There was no sign of a break in, but that doesn't mean something didn't happen to him somewhere else. I haven't heard anything...and I'm worried," she admitted.

"What about Al?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard anything, but..." She sighed. "I wouldn't have thought she would leave him alone. But I can't find her. All I know is that she isn't the Mad Hatter's new girl."

"Do you think they had a Bat run-in?"

"I don't _know_." The worry--the _fear_--permeating her voice set her companion hyperventilating as she, too, began to run through the list of ditches where their corpses might be lying. "Deep breath, Captain. Don't shut down." Techie pulled out the pen that had been holding her hair off the back of her neck, and handed it over. Gratefully, the Captain clicked the top a few times until she was a little more focused. "Now. We can handle this."

"How?"

"The first place we're going to look is Arkham. After that, we can check the hospitals and Squishy's old lairs. Al has a few other friends in the city; one of them might know where she's gone. We can try asking around at the Iceberg. Didn't you hang around with the Calculator a while back? He might know something. And there's always Al's parents. Do you think she might have gone home--"

"I'm sorry I said you had a smooth forehead," the Captain interrupted.

"Oh, hey, it's...don't worry about..." She sighed. "I'm sorry I left."

"Me, too." She giggled mirthlessly. "Really, _really_ sorry. You want to hold my hair while I go throw up?" Techie blinked in surprise, dismissing the mental image of a platinum blond wig sliding off the Captain's freshly shaven head. She wasn't going to make a joke about it, but...

"Captain, have you been drinking?" The Captain carefully shook her head no. "Are you sick?" She came up out of her chair, overcome with the kind of concern she hadn't felt for anyone since...since before, when they had still been a perfect team.

"It's...um..." She shrugged.

"What?" Techie prodded.

"Morning...sickness."

Techie's jaw dropped.

"_What_?!"

"Yarr," said the Captain, "thar be a bun in me oven."

"You--you're having a Squishlet? You finally managed to hold him down long enough? You didn't know this _before, _did you? Captain! You're having a **_Squishlet_**?"

"No," the Captain said hastily, the moment Techie stopped for breath. "He's not the--the father."

Techie's eyes narrowed.

"Firefly? I'll kill him."

"No! For your information, I haven't...well, that just wouldn't be possible, okay?"

"Then whose is it?" Techie demanded.

"No one's, _Mom_!"

"Uh-huh." If her eyebrow had crept up any higher, it would probably be touching the back of her neck. "So we're going with the Immaculate Conception story." The Captain's face went red.

"No. It's just...an...enigma?"

Techie shot out of her chair.

"_What_?" she bellowed. "_You're having the Riddler's baby_?"

The entire room went silent. The Captain went even redder under the intense scrutiny of thirty complete strangers.

"Oh, Jesus," she whispered. "We're--we're rehearsing for a play." The other customers continued to stare. "Drink your damn coffee! You want a show, you buy your tickets like everyone else!" She turned back to Techie and continued with the awkward inflection of a mediocre actor, and a poor imitation of Harley Quinn's accent. "No, Red. I'm afraid it's worse than that. I never told you about the wild night I spent with Batman on the rooftops."

Techie recovered quickly, and replied with the same awkward inflection.

"The Joker will skin you alive! But I guess it's about time I told you what he and I have been doing behind your back..."

--

Outside, Techie and the Captain collapsed in each other's arms, laughing too hard to stand without support.

"You--cuckolded--my--Puddin'!" Techie gasped, much more naturally than the actor voices they had both been doing moments before.

"I was never good with the lurvey stuff," the Captain agreed. "But it sounded like a good line at the time." By unspoken agreement, they glomped each other. "I missed you, Ops!"

"Of course you did. I'm just inherently loveable."

"Of course you are."

"And we're _never_ going to have a stupid fight like that again."

"Of course we're not. But...will the Joker let you go?" The grin froze on Techie's face.

"No. Just figures he'd slither out of Arkham's paddywagon when no one's looking. He may not come straight for me, but if he sees me, he'll want to know why I didn't come looking for him. I'm not getting out of this without a fight."

"Not even if you ask _real_ nice?" the Captain asked hopefully.

"I doubt it."

"What if you sang the Lumberjack Song?"

"Captain...well, maybe...'I never wanted to be a henchgirl, running around after the boss all night and blowing things up. I wanted to be...a lumberjack!'"

"And I thought you were so butch," the Captain chimed in helpfully. Techie shook her head.

"It might work, but only until he found out that I _wasn't_ actually leaping from tree to tree as they floated down the mighty rivers of British Columbia. I don't know what he'd do to me if he found out he'd been lied to, but I bet it wouldn't be pretty."

"Oh, he'd forget all about you once he had Harley back," the Captain said dismissively. Harley grinned suddenly.

"Harley! You're a genius, Mon Capitan."

"Of course," the Captain acknowledged.

"I never thought I'd say this, but we have to get them back together."

"Sounds like a plan! But I have to ask--are you acknowledging that the pair of tragic clowns are destined to be together, a romance for the ages, or are you just thinking, 'better her than me'?"

"Does it really matter? Let's go spring the twit, and may they both find happiness. Or at least...not kill each other right away."


	2. Chapter 2

The lawyer was dowdy, black hair twisted into a messy bun, reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck, dull grey suit making her body blocky and thick. A few of them had seen her before, but no one connected the middle-aged frump with the semi-respectable-looking young thing with the great rack who was inexplicably married to Jonathan Crane and had shown up to make out with him in full view of the hidden camera.

She had never had much respect for the security in places like this, and today they didn't disappoint. They let her in without a fuss.

She sat down across from Harley Quinn without a hint of a smile. Harley didn't smile back.

"Good afternoon, Miss Quinzel. I'm Melanie Brooks, representing the law firm of Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe. Were you aware that your--uh--employer called upon our services from time to time?"

"Can't say that I was," Harley said suspiciously, peering at her visitor's face and trying to decide whether or not she really recognized the woman under all that makeup.

"Well, he did, Miss Quinn. And because he did, there are a few things I need to discuss with you today. Do you realize that, under certain laws, you can be regarded as his common-law wife?"

Harley's expression went dreamy.

"Wife?" she repeated. "Like in man and wife, you may now kiss the bride?"

"Exactly. And that's why I'm here."

Harley refocused, serious again.

" i Why /i are you here?"

The lawyer cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"You're the only beneficiary named in the Joker's will."

" i Will /i ? No." Harley pushed herself back from the table. The guards tensed. "No. My Puddin' isn't dead. And I don't know who you are, lady, but you ain't his lawyer. Mistah J has a type, and you ain't it."

"I realize that, of course, Miss Quinn. Mister J," she said, enunciating sharply, "didn't limit himself to just one lawyer or just one firm. And the gentleman he used from our office fled the country when he got the news. You see, the Joker's will specified that he wanted to be buried like a Pharaoh, with all his servants. Including the executor of his estate. Mr. Logan was all too willing to believe that he might be forced to carry out his duties by some of the Joker's more zealous former associates."

Harley was, of course, sputtering with laughter.

"That's my Puddin'! You know, when Abbott and Costello met the Mummy, he--" Her eyes widened. "He's really i dead /i ?!"

"So they say." She offered a comforting smile. "But you know how it is. They didn't find a body. There's no need to give up hope. But until we know more, let's talk about that will."


	3. Chapter 3

Meanwhile, a student journalist from Hudson University--or, at least, an imposter with a well-forged press pass--had charmed her way past security and into the restricted wing.

There were no big-name rogues in solitary confinement that day, so she deigned to interview a lesser offender who at least boasted some kind of connection to the Scarecrow, strong enough that she would try to fight her way through the guards to get to him.

Al knew better than to recognize her visitor.

"What do you want?" she asked with a heavy scowl.

"My name is Angel Marie." She spoke with a hint of a flirty French accent, which had gone a long way toward putting the guards on her side. "They say you won't tell them who you are. Why is that?"

"Everyone calls me Al. That's all they need to know. And you didn't say what you want."

"Angel Marie" flipped open her notebook and wrote, upside-down, i get you out /i . Then, once Al had read them, she turned the scrawled words into a messy right-side-up "Al(ice?) Doe".

"I'm with the Hudson Reporter. I'm here to interview certain inmates for an article. Is that all right with you?"

"I guess so," Al grumbled, fighting down a smile that only someone who knew her well would have seen. "What kind of questions do you want to ask me?"

"Well..." She cleared her throat. "I notice you have a few...bruises."

"Nothing worth avenging," Al said dryly.

"So you're not being mistreated here?"

"I've been stuck in solitary for days." She shrugged. "But I guess I brought that on myself. Totally worth it, by the way."

"What exactly did you do?"

"Killed someone." The Captain--strike that, _Angel Marie_'s eyes widened. "She deserved it," Al said defensively. "She hurt my Squishykins."

"S-Squishykins? That would be..."

"The Scarecrow. My boss. I'm not supposed to call him that--bad for his image--but he's really in no condition to protest. He was in a coma, last I heard. And the fucking bitch broke his back." The Captain flinched.

"Really? I...hadn't heard...that's..."

"Yeah, sometimes they actually manage to keep some news within these walls. She and her sisters ran him over with an SUV. Cracked his skull, did all kinds of internal damage. If he's lucky, he won't be paralyzed for life. Three of the bitches went to Sunshine, two got off with community service, but the oldest one came here, and I got her," Al said proudly. "Bare hands. Cool pen."

Subtly reminded of her cover story, the Captain scribbled down the gist of the conversation in shorthand.

"Do you...do this kind of thing often?"

"What, kill people, or avenge my boss?" She smiled grimly. "Whenever he gets hurt, I do what I can to even the score. Of course, I usually have a couple of wingmen watching my back." Their eyes locked. The Captain nodded slightly. Al nodded back.

The interview continued. The Captain left satisfied. The guards suspected nothing. As far as she could tell.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: A reviewer told me that this 'verse was turning into a soap opera. After that, how could I _not_ put Squishy in a coma?_

_Will he have any interesting dreams? Stay tuned to find out!_

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The Captain's cover story necessitated interviews with a few more inmates. As a result, Techie had more than an hour alone in the lair before her friend came back.

She had never realized how empty it could be when there was no one in it. That was only logical, of course, but logic wasn't exactly her strong suit. Just knowing that she could walk right into the lab and not be pushed out again made everything all topsy-turvy. There was no sound from the TV, no music playing, no sounds of any vigorous conversations with the lamp or the rug. All the furniture must have been so lonely without them.

She turned the TV up far louder than she normally would have, to fill the silence. It was a good thing the cable company hadn't caught on yet to how she was pirating their service.

The moment the Captain walked through the door, Techie knew something was wrong. She turned off the TV.

"What happened? Is Al okay?"

"A little banged up, but I think she's mostly in one piece." She went straight to the kitchen to heat the water for two cups of tea. Techie followed.

"Then it's Squishy." The Captain didn't answer. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's in the infirmary," she answered, furiously intent on the microwave as it counted down to zero.

"For what?"

"Car."

"Car?" Techie repeated. The Captain turned to face her, enunciating carefully.

"Someone hit him with a car." The microwave dinged. The Captain removed the cups and placed the tea bags in the water. Earl Grey, with half a spoonful of Godiva hot chocolate mix added to each cup. Techie had to assume the worst.

"He's _dead_?" The Captain shook her head violently.

"_No!_ Ops, would anything _not_ be on fire if I thought that?"

"No," she admitted with a sigh of relief. The Captain handed over one of the cups.

"Drink it." They each took a sip, not bothering to let it steep properly. "He's pretty bad off. We aren't going to be able to spring him right now."

"When?"

"I...I don't know."

That didn't sound good. Not at all.

"_When_?" Techie repeated. "How bad is he hurt?" The Captain drained her cup of tea.

Oh, that _was_ bad.

"I'm sorry, Ops. I don't want to say it."

"Captain, I'm going to find out one way or another. Just tell me."

The Captain started to put more water in her teacup. Techie took it out of her hand. More caffeine was a very bad idea, no matter how calming the tea and chocolate might feel initially. The Captain fell back against the counter, frustrated to the point of tears.

"I don't want to say it; you don't want to hear it. Please just let it go."

"Okay," said Techie. "I just want to know one thing--do we need to break someone's knees for this?"

The Captain nodded.

"Number One got the ringleader. That leaves five for us. How...how did your mission go?"

"Not bad at all," Techie said with considerable satisfaction. "Harley's ready to break out and rush to her Puddin's rescue, and even if for some reason she doesn't try to take Al with her, we can make use of the distraction. Blow up a few things. At least Batman's attention would be off us. But I think she'll want to help Al. She's the loyal type."


	5. Chapter 5

Al was not at all happy about being confined to a straitjacket. After this, she was going to make a point _never_ to tease Jonathan about his discomfort with the stupid things. He was absolutely right about them, of course. They were horribly uncomfortable. And they rendered the wearer almost completely helpless, which might have been the _point_, but didn't make her feel any better.

She was supposed to be the _bringer_ of vengeance. And she didn't even remember biting the guard's stupid, scabby arm. It certainly didn't seem like an injury worth avenging. But the stupid bastard disagreed.

Oh, she was not enjoying her time in Arkham.

But her day brightened just a little bit when one of her padded walls collapsed. And there was Harley Quinn, in full costume, with a big grin on her face and a boxing glove gun slung over her shoulder.

"Heya, toots! C'mon. Red's opening up a tunnel."

"You're incredible, Harl." She struggled to her feet and managed to step over the rubble without falling on her face. Harley started cutting her free of her restraints as they walked, stopping only once to heft her gun and knock out a startled guard. Al stepped on his elbow as they went by. "Harley..." She hesitated. "Is there...time?"

"You want to make a pit stop?" Harley shook her head, filled with sympathy for a friend in a predicament she knew only too well. "We can't take him with us. He's in no shape to make a run for it."

"I know that. I just want to see him. I don't want to leave him here, alone, without...seeing him."

Harley smiled wryly.

"Yeah. Okay. We can stop for a minute. I know this part like the back of my hand."

--

He looked dead. He wasn't; she could hear the beeping of the machines that monitored his vitals, and if she concentrated, she could see his skinny chest rising and falling underneath the sheet. He wasn't dead. But he looked it.

She walked up to him, soft footfalls unnaturally loud in her own ears. She approached him as hesitantly as she would a body in a coffin, if it were someone she didn't _want_ to see lying in a box. She willed him to open his eyes and order her to leave him alone.

The machines kept up their beeping. Al's hand curled into a fist. She wanted to hit something. She wanted to punch that heart monitor, slam it against the wall until it died in a shower of glass and plastic. It was intruding on her Squishykins. It was _wrong_. He shouldn't need it. She stifled a sob.

"Jonathan," she whispered. His right eyelid twitched. There was no other change. "Why do these things keep happening to you?"

He said nothing.

"It's my fault," she answered herself. "I got you into this one. I'm...I'm so sorry." She leaned over to press her cheek against his, the closest she dared to come to a hug, for fear of somehow hurting him even worse than he already was. "I'll come back, I promise. I'll get you home as soon as I can. And we'll never leave you alone again."

He didn't rise up from the bed to forbid her from even thinking such a thing.

She had to leave the room. Just in case he was aware, she didn't want him to know she was crying.

And when he was alone again, he let his eyes open and let go of the whisper he had been holding in.

"Don't go..."


End file.
